


Forgotten

by niffizzle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Hogwarts Sixth Year, non-HEA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 08:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18027947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niffizzle/pseuds/niffizzle
Summary: One foot off the Hogwarts Express and Draco Malfoy’s sixth year is already proving to be a challenge.  Matters get even trickier to navigate, however, when he encounters a certain Gryffindor witch running back towards the train.  The only solution now is to convince her to forget that their summer together ever happened.





	Forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> I’m super eager to share this new one-shot, but I will warn you that this is non-HEA. My apologies in advance, but when a plunny hits, a plunny hits, and I wanted to try something different so... here we are! 
> 
> Endless love to LightofEvolution and CourtingInsanity for being my wonderful alpha/beta team.

The first stars had already begun to sprinkle across the early evening sky when Draco stepped onto the otherwise vacant Hogsmeade Station platform. Off in the distance, he could faintly detect the shapes of the other students who had a several minutes head start towards the castle.

The smoke billowing out of the front engine clouded Draco’s surroundings as he sauntered away from what he hoped would be the last he saw of Potter for at least a couple of days. Knowing the now widely considered _“Chosen One”_ (pause for the obligatory scoff every time that insufferable moniker was used) _,_ it wouldn’t be long before someone noticed his absence and he was brought back to Hogwarts before the start of classes.

Regardless of this inevitable outcome, it had still been immensely satisfying to watch the blood drip from the Golden Boy’s broken nose. And hopefully Potter had gotten the message to stay clear of his path this year.

Draco kept his head down as he passed through the gates until he heard the sound of urgent footsteps growing closer. The figure was still a considerable distance away, but the unsettling feeling in his gut was instantaneous after just one glance of the rapidly approaching student.

 _Not her,_ Draco prayed. _Anyone but her._

All the power of the four founders combined couldn’t save him from this impending disaster. He had managed to avoid her on the train and had hoped this small streak of luck would continue through the Welcome Feast, but that no longer seemed likely.

He drew the hood of his cloak over his head and maintained steady eye contact with the ground below. Perhaps if he just kept walking, she wouldn’t recognise him, and he could slip past her without--

A heavy weight collided into him, forcing Draco to teeter backwards. As he regained his footing, he realised that his hood had fallen from its place and his gaze was now met with the warmth of the chocolate irises that had consumed his thoughts all summer.

“Draco.”

The serene sound of his given name on her lips was enough to send him spiralling into the recent past. For the briefest of moments, he could imagine that they were back in Diagon Alley that morning in early July when she had stumbled into him in a similar fashion, when his father was locked up in Azkaban and his mother was too consumed by other affairs to care how Draco spent his days, when their story truly began.

A whirlwind of snapshot memories flashed before him. The day they realised they were in the same weekly summer book club hosted at Flourish and Blotts, both in need of a mental escape. The meeting she had actually (although, quite bitterly) agreed with one of his arguments. The time he voluntarily sat next to her, and she didn’t get up and move. The moment he asked her to lunch, and the years of antagonism between them officially began to crumble away.

Until that month and a half of blissful freedom had come crashing to a fiery end when his looming task had so unwillingly been bestowed upon him.

The softness of her features that he had grown to adore flickered from her expression and shifted to a scowl. “I should have predicted you had something to do with this,” she snapped. “Where is Harry, and what did you do to him?”

His heart plummeted, unprepared for the return of her sharp tongue at his expense. “Nothing he didn’t deserve,” he snarled in response.

The witch folded her arms across her chest. “Is that honestly all you’re going to give me? I had hoped that after this summer, things would be at least _mildly_ better between us this year.”

“I told you, Hermione,” he tried to explain, although he knew despite her brilliance that she would never truly understand. “Whatever that was between us this summer… Pretend it never happened. Trust me. It’d be better for both of us.”

Her nose wrinkled as she deepened her scowl, and Draco instantly knew that he had said the wrong thing.

“And I told you that whatever it is that seems to be plaguing you, we could work through together,” she defended with a huff. “We could find a solution. There’s always another way.”

Draco withheld the scoff that threatened to escape his lips. That only further underscored how little she understood about what was truly going on. And yet, there was a gentle humming in his chest at her words. One of the things he had grown to appreciate about her was her staunch certitude that what was right would always prove triumphant. When everything else in his world had felt so muddled, she had given him a glimmer of hope that there was still a way out. But now he knew that he had been foolish to think there could be a different outcome. It was too late. For him, at least.

His Adam’s apple bobbed down his throat with a heavy swallow, and he was astutely aware that this would likely be the last time he’d be alone with her and get to speak so candidly.

“I just need you to know that whatever happens this school year is because I didn’t have a choice,” he surrendered, the most he could say without revealing too much.

But as he should have predicted, it wasn’t enough for Hermione.

“You always have a choice.”

Draco lowered his head and gently shook it. “Not with this.”

He made to walk away before he said something that he’d come to regret, but he had only managed a few steps when Hermione’s hand reached out for his.

“If you would just tell me what’s going on…”

He turned around to find Hermione staring at him, her eyes wide as she pleaded for him to let her in. But as much as Draco longed to have someone other than his mother know about the near-impossible task that he’d been charged with and the internal turmoil that now waged inside of him, he had to hold strong.

Telling her wouldn’t help anyone.

“I can’t,” he said, attempting to bolster up what little of his resolve remained. “Hermione, you need to drop this and move on. Without me.”

Her first name fell from his lips, and like a curse straight to his heart, he realised he would not be able to use it again once they stepped foot in the castle. Everything had to end here.

He yanked his hand from her grip, uncertain how much longer he could withstand being in her presence, and resumed his trek down the forest-lined path, but Hermione immediately stormed after him.

“You have no right to tell me what I _need_ to do, Draco!” she fumed, her angry words echoing in the surrounding trees. “You have somehow come to the wrong conclusion that you can make all the decisions for us, conveniently forgetting that I am a nearly-of-age witch who is perfectly capable of having her own opinions, and—”

Draco halted in his path, causing Hermione to bump into him. He wasted no time yanking the fabric of her robes towards him and leaning in until his eyes were clamped closed and her lips were pressed against his, forcing the rest of her argument to stay sealed inside.

He knew it was a terrible idea, that nothing good could come from stealing one final kiss before he locked away any feelings he ever had towards the witch, and yet, hearing her say his given name again, even under the present circumstances, destroyed any ounce of willpower he had left.

Despite his continual protests, Hermione was willing to fight for them and the connection they had fostered against the most challenging of odds. There was a spark between them that, under any other conditions, could develop into something meaningful, something lasting. Draco had come to accept that one sunny afternoon in August after they had first kissed. Leading up to the moment, he had been painfully nervous, terrified about what it would mean. He, Draco Malfoy -- widely-regarded pompous prat from one of the most prominent pureblood families -- yearned to kiss her, Hermione Granger -- notable know-it-all bookworm with not a drop of magical blood elsewhere on her family tree.

And yet, when he dared to do it, it had been easy. Like nothing else mattered except for her hum of approval and the sensation of her body pressed against his.

Even now, with the warmth of her kiss spreading through him like a hot butterbeer on a frigid winter day, he felt that same blissful elation of this witch in his embrace. He wanted to stay exactly like this, pretending that war wasn’t imminent and that they were like any other ordinary student at Hogwarts.

But they weren’t. And he should have known from that very first kiss that he’d never get to keep something so pure.

With one final commitment to memory of the feel of her kiss, Draco withdrew himself. “I need you to forget about us,” he pleaded one final time.

Hermione shook her head, the beginning traces of tears starting to gloss over her eyes. “But I don’t _want_ to.”

He cupped a hand against her cheek. “I don’t either, but it’s the only way you and I will make it out of this school year alive.”

Comprehension dawned across her features, and Draco knew he had said too much. He stepped away, but Hermione’s hand was already clamped around his left wrist while the other shoved up the sleeves of his cloak and underlying robes, revealing the twisted serpent and skull that snaked up his forearm.

Her knees failed to support her weight as Hermione faltered backwards, her breathing heavy and shallow as her gaze remained fixated on the brandished mark. “What have you done?”

“You know I wouldn’t have done it if I had a choice,” he tried to explain, but the distant shocked expression on Hermione’s face told him that she wasn’t really listening.

“Harry was right,” she stammered. “You’re a--”

“Don’t,” he interrupted. He couldn’t bear the thought of hearing her call him that. “I promise you, Hermione, I--”

Her head snapped up, shock replaced with rage. “No. You don’t get to call me that anymore!” she seethed, any trace of the witch who had so willingly kissed him not a minute earlier no longer recognisable in her menacing glare. “This summer -- you’re right. It’s best if we forget it.”

Even though that was exactly what he had pleaded for her to do, actually hearing her voice the sentiment stung worse than a Billywig. He didn’t want her to forget it. Not really. How could either one of them expect to revert to their old ways and pretend as if nothing had happened between them when so much had?

But the longer he silently stood there, the farther he could see Hermione slipping away from him.

“I can explain,” Draco scrambled to say, but it was too little, too late.

Tears were already streaking down her cheeks. “Nothing you can say will ever properly excuse… excuse _that,”_ she managed through choked sobs. “Clearly everything I thought we had between us was all just a lie.”

She pulled her wand out from her robes pocket, and Draco’s breath caught inside his chest.

“I’ve been practising all summer just in case...” he heard her mumble faintly louder than a whisper.

Draco braced himself for the hex he knew he deserved. He just hoped that whatever spells she had been practising weren’t so damaging that he couldn’t make it all the way to the infirmary by himself.

He anxiously awaited the impacting blow of her hex, but nothing ever hit. More curiously, instead of pointing her wand towards him, she was now pointing it towards herself, the tip wavering next to her temple.

Draco scrunched his eyebrows. “What are you doing?”

“Exactly what you told me to do,” Hermione said, sniffing back the tears as she stared Draco dead in the eyes. “I’m going to forget about us.”

It took a few seconds for Draco to fully grasp what she had said, but when it finally hit him, there was nothing he could do to stop it. Hermione’s wrist had already rotated the necessary ninety degrees, and a glow was illuminating her wand’s tip.

“Hermione, no!” he managed to shout just before the spell was successfully cast and her gaze turned vacant.

If Draco had tried to intervene, there was no predicting how it could have negatively impacted the effects of the spell, causing even more damage. He knew how tricky this spell could be. But that thought didn’t make it any easier for him to helplessly witness Hermione rid herself of all their memories together.

He forced his eyes closed as he waited for it to be over, his own mind churning with the memories of which he was soon to be the lone beholder. The book club meetings. The perusing of the book aisles afterwards. The conversations over lunch. The resulting laughs and smiles. The slow deterioration of his prejudices. The feelings they had miraculously built for one another. All of it. Just like that. Gone.

The sound of Hermione’s wand hand dropping to her side prompted Draco to return his vision in her direction, just in time for him to catch the flicker of life to return to her gaze.

She blinked several times before peering at Draco, her head tilted askance. “Malfoy? What are you doing here?”

The return of her usage of his surname shattered what small piece inside of him had foolishly held onto any hope that she hadn’t properly executed the spell. But of course she had. To expect anything short of perfect spellwork from her would have been even more absurd.

The deed was done. Any part of her that was ever his was gone forever.

Draco forced his lips into a sneer and reverted back to what she expected of her school-based nemesis, no matter how much it pained him to do.

“I’ll be the one asking the questions here, Granger, considering it’s _me_ who’s on Prefect’s duty tonight,” he chided with his best accompanying scowl. “And shouldn’t _you_ be in the castle already?”

Hermione surveyed her surroundings, a wrinkle to her forehead. “That’s odd. I remember getting off the train with Ron, but I don’t recall why I came back…”

“I don’t need an explanation,” he said, doing his best to maintain the illusion of indifference. “Just hurry along back to the castle. Although I doubt Weasley has noticed your absence. He’s probably too busy imagining all the things he’ll stuff his face with once the feast begins.”

Pink highlighted the tips of her ears, and Draco knew he had sufficiently gotten under her skin. It was just as easy as it had always been -- or rather, the words themselves were just as easy to say as they had always been. He feared, however, the sinking feeling in his gut may prove to be permanent.

She only lingered for a few more seconds before turning with a huff, and Draco watched as she disappeared into the distance, obscured by the shadows of the trees and the dusk night sky. When he deemed her far enough away, Draco let out a long, desperate sigh and a few pent up tears finally broke free.

Perhaps once his task was over, he could try explaining again. That was, of course, assuming he actually survived the mission. And then there was the greater question of whether or not she would ever be able to forgive him. If this was her reaction just upon seeing his Mark, it didn’t seem likely.

The distant whistle of the Hogwarts Express alerted Draco, and he looked back at the scarlet engine, spotting someone with purple hair sneaking back on. If he wasn’t so emotionally exhausted, Draco may have gone back to investigate, but he wasn’t in the mood. Besides, it was likely just another person searching for their beloved “Chosen One”. _Scoff._ After all, people cared about _his_ future and livelihood. He was Famous Potter, whereas Draco was just another pawn in the Dark Lord’s twisted plan.

Hands sunk deep inside his cloak pockets, Draco sulked back to the castle, resigning himself to the fact that his fate was sealed the moment he was born with the Malfoy name.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Again, sorry (although not *that* sorry) for the non-HEA. Hope you still enjoyed, and please take a moment to let me know what you think and/or check out some of my other stories :) 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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